Show Me My Heart's Desire
by Pandalandalopalis
Summary: Five hundred years ago, before Hal was a vampire, he asked three witches to show him the face of his true love. (Hal/Alex fic) (Rated T to be safe)


A/N: This fic is based off the premise that when Hal, Alex, and Tom wake up from the dream world they die using the spell against the Devil.

* * *

Hal was born in a brothel. This meant that true love was probably the most foreign thing he had ever come across of. But he still wanted it. He didn't know which of the whores in the house his mother was, but they raised him up all right. As for his father, well. . . Practically anyone in the town could have been his father. Hal didn't want that, he didn't want to sleep around with random women and never meet possible children they could have. He wanted something real. He wanted someone real.

When someone had told him there were three witches that could tell him his future, well, how could he pass that up? Maybe there was a woman in his future who married him, who loved him, who had children with him that he could raise with her and never abandon.

The day it took for Hal to travel to the place with the witches was worth every step. When he finally arrived at the top of the mountain, it was like he had stepped into a certain playwright's mind. The sky was dark, the only light came from a fire under a black cauldron. Three hideous, ancient-looking women were huddled around it.

"_So he has arrived!_" the First Witch spoke, her voice raspy and shredded.

"_The great 'Lord Harry'!_" the Second Witch snickered, and the other two cackled.

"My name is Hal," he told them sternly, his teeth gritted together. He sensed their trying to mock him.

"_We _know_ who you are_," the Third Witch said, stepping towards him.

"_And we _know_ would you will _be_,_" the Second Witch added.

"I have a question I would like answered."

"_Speak it! And be prepared for our answer_," the First Witch said in a cryptic tone. Hal took a deep breath.

"I would like to see the face of my future love."

The three witches stared at him blankly, then looked at each other, murmuring incoherently.

"_Specify your wish_."

"What?" Hal asked, confused. "Why?"

The Third Witch rolled her eyes. "_Man can love more than one in a lifetime._" The other two smiled at the last word. Hal thought about the question. He thought about how he would have to go to war, and he would want someone to come back to. Or someone to grieve him when he was gone.

"I wish to see the love that is with me when I die." Figuratively. He meant this _figuratively_. He didn't exactly want his love to see him die on the battlefield; he meant that she would be with him; together; married. Of course, the witches have a way of making things literal.

"_The first time you have no love_," said the Second.

"_We'll have to refer to the second time,_" said the Third.

"_Although your love has past her first time as well!_" said the First, followed by laughter from the three.

"I've had enough with your riddles!" Hal shouted, the angry in his voice accented by lightning appearing above. "Show me her!"

"_No need to shout,_" complained the Third.

"_You need only ask,_" said the First.

"_Come,_" the Second Witch began, taking Hal's hand and bringing him to the cauldron. "_Look. You will see her soon enough._"

And he did. Her hair was dark and shorter than he had even seen on a woman before. Her clothes were strange, but oddly fitting, like she had always been meant to wear them. Her eyes. . . They were hazel, and they transfixed Hal to the spot. He couldn't stop marveling at her face, like she was an angel sent from above to smite him –for he or any other man were not worthy of such presence.

"She's beautiful," he commented when he finally found the words. "More than that, she's. . . I've never seen a woman with such beauty before."

"_Then you are satisfied?_" the First Witch asked. Finally able to tear his eyes away from the image, he looked up at the three witches.

"What is her name?"

"_Alex Millar_," the Second Witch answered.

"When will I meet her?"

"_Far from now,_" said the Third.

"When?" Hal repeated.

The First Witch looked at her sisters before answering. "_In approximately five hundred years._"

For a moment, Hal was stricken. He couldn't comprehend the words. "Five hundred– Why, that's impossible!"

"_Unlikely, yes," _spoke the Second.

"_But not impossible,_" spoke the Third.

Hal made a show of frustration. "I've had it with your nonsense! Human beings cannot live for that long."

"_No, they cannot,_" the First Witch said, which received snickers from the other two.

"What does that mean?"

The three witches murmured to each other. "_We have answered your desire; now you must leave,_" the Third Witch told him. Hal shook his head.

"No! I must have answers!"

"_We have given you answers,_" said the Second.

Hal shook his head. "I must know what you speak of, I prithee! Tell!" But the witches just laughed at him, a horrible cackling sound that timed well into the lightning storm above. And in a puff of smoke, they were gone.

* * *

It wasn't until the vampire offered him the chance at immortal life did Hal finally understand what the witches meant by five hundred years. Still, it was a long time to wait. The first few decades he held the hope that he would someday meet his love. But the years started to drag along in what seemed like an impossible eternity; he forgot her face; he forgot her name; and he forgot why he believed in her at all.

_"__The first time you have no love." _When he first died to become a vampire. _"We'll have to refer to the second time." _But he began to ignore the witches' words, began to consider himself an immortal that could not, would not, be killed. He became a killer, filling his emptiness with blood and lust and power. His love faded from existence with every passing century.

But there was a time, in the moments of clarity when Hal was able to keep Lord Harry at bay, when he thought about her. He thought about his prophesied love and how he could no longer remember her name. He remembered she was beautiful, but he could not remember why. Sometimes he tried counting the years, every decade a step closer to her. Lord Harry would return every once and a while, and all thoughts about the witches and his love ceased from his mind.

When Leo brought Hal back to the surface, cut him off from blood, the thought of her came back. He counted the years again and discovered the five hundred years were just about up. He could meet her any day now. He held onto that through the two years of detox Leo put him through.

When Hal first met Pearl, he thought it was her. The timing was right, and she was certainly beautiful, but. . . He didn't love her. Not like that, anyway. Leo loved her. She loved Leo. And so his search continued, for fifty more years.

One day, he gave up.

* * *

Hal watched Alex drink the blood, his blood mixed with Tom's. The Devil screamed at her to stop, told her that they could go back to their dream world and be happy, they didn't have to die. But she didn't stop until it was all gone, and the Devil was turned to ash.

He was watching Alex fade away, now. But he didn't care. Lord Harry was in control. What did he care if the ghost that _Hal_ cared about died? It's not like he was going to survive this. Lord Harry was going to die too; he could feel the choking feeling in his chest and throat. He could see the werewolf at his side feeling the same, gasping for air. What did he care? He was going to die. Tom was going to die. Alex was going to die. What did he care?

_She's already dead; she can't die. Just cease to exist, _some part of him said, the sarcastic part of him that hadn't went away with the resurface of Lord Harry.

_"__Although your love has past her first time as well!"_

All this time and he had never figured out this part. With the help of his last thought he finally put it together. His love would already be dead, like him.

_"__I wish to see the love that is with me when I die."_

Now he really was dying. What did he care? He wasn't married, he didn't have a girlfriend. He wasn't _with_ anyone. Figuratively. He meant it _figuratively_. In all his years of life, he never thought to consider that the witches had taken his words _literally._ Because there _was_ someone with him as he was dying.

As he put the pieces together, as his chest screamed and his bones felt brittle, he could feel Lord Harry ebbing away.

Hal looked at Alex. He didn't know why he didn't see it before. It was her. The woman from the cauldron. It was his love, the one he had been waiting for. And now she was fading away. What did he care? He cared about her. He loved her. He loved Alex and never thought he could ever deserve her.

Hal reached his hand out to her, and grasped hers. Her semi-translucent eyes bore into his. He couldn't speak. Neither could she. He tried to convey his thoughts to her almost telepathically: _I'm sorry._

She understood. She nodded. And then she was gone. The last thing that Hal heard before dissolving into ash were Tom's final breaths.

* * *

A/N: The beginning was a little over-dramatic, kind of a Macbeth feel to it I think. About the thing where the vision of Alex was 'the most beautiful woman Hal had ever seen': This kind of goes along with the theory that people become better-looking over time. Like if you went back in time to Egypt right now they'd probably worship you for being so beautiful. (Apparently Hal is the exception to this I MEAN HAVE YOU SEEN HIM)


End file.
